The Onesie
by TreesofPaper
Summary: After an exhausting day fighting at the Breach, Jaune decides to get the best sleep he can, with the help of a really soft old friend. But when Pyrrha shows up absolutely dead tired, he decides something must be done. Arkos, with less plot and more fluff.


Jaune Arc had never felt more alive- and simultaneously, more dead- in all his life. In one day, he'd killed at least nine Grimm by himself (a new record!), masterfully directed three-and-a-half teams in the successful defense of Vale proper during the Breach, and become a hero overnight. In the ruins of the streets, he and his classmates had been commended by _the_ General James Ironwood, and promised a warm welcome to Atlas anytime. Even the austere Professor Goodwitch had made an appearance- not only to rescue him from the paparazzi, but also to squeeze his shoulder and tell him that she'd underestimated him. Coming from her, it was the equivalent of a parade held in his honor.

He'd also had roughly three hours of sleep due to packing everything for the mission team JNPR was _supposed_ to go on, and thrown up on the Bullhead that brought them to the fight. His aura showed up as a small sliver of red on his scroll from the beating he'd taken, he'd thrown up _again_ on the Bullhead _back_ to Beacon, and was beset by frantic calls from his family for an hour. Understandably, the first thing Jaune did after returning to his team's room was to slump down on his bed face-first, fully armored, and try to get some rest. Despite her compliment, Goodwitch did not regard him, nor any of the students, as exempt from class tomorrow, and on top of that, they still had to unpack everything. He would need what little energy he had left for later. But to get the most out of these few hours of sleep, he would need some more…. specialized equipment. Jaune pushed himself up, not drowsy enough to ignore the sudden pangs of fear. As if to prepare himself, Jaune rose to his feet, stood in the center of the room, and warily scanned the darkness under his bed.  
The suitcase he'd brought along to Beacon rested at the foot of his bed, partly beneath it to prevent too many falls, yet protruded just enough to provide easy access. All that he'd really needed were his combat clothes- which consisted of a few nice hoodies and his armor- some Beacon uniforms, and sleepwear. Aside from some underwear and hygienic accessories, that was pretty much it.

But at the very bottom of a hidden inner pouch lay his most hated secret. Jaune took a deep breath, and took a cautious step forward.

Then back.

Then forward again.

But maybe back was good? Yeah, back was good.

No, this wouldn't work without _it_. Forward again.

But was he sure-

JUST DO IT.

Kneeling, he rummaged past undershirts and worn socks to reach his own personal hell and pulled. The outside world, if it had paid close attention, would have seen a short flash of baby blue before the demon vanished again under a panicked hand. Jaune's senses, he realized, had become uncomfortably heightened in the short moment between understanding what must be done and now. He could hear chatter in the halls, and feel the chill on the other side of the window pane. He froze when he heard footsteps and voices approaching, and relaxed when they passed by, completely unaware of the taboo act about to unfold. But most importantly, he could feel the impossibly soft threads of the baby blue cloth, ecstasy peaked by the fear of getting caught, and-

Wait, when did he put it on? Oh no, this wasn't supposed to happen so soon! He was supposed to have burned this right after he'd been caught wearing it proudly the night before initiation. Half the taunts and teases he got in classes were direct effects of that horrid, socially inept night! This was a mistake, Jaune knew, he had to get it off now.

But it was really soft. Jaune allowed himself just one moment of weakness and wrapped his arms around himself. It was as if he was the warmest pillow in the world, made of clouds and silk. He no longer felt his body, but merely his existence on this softer plane of reality. This would _definitely_ help him get the restful sleep he needed. He could handle any trial, shrug off any shame, so long as this was on him.

"Uh… Jaune?"

Or maybe not.

Jaune whipped around, still kneeling, and stood in a haughty power pose. Nervous fists on nervous hips, he looked down his nose at his partner. "Nothing!" he said a little too loudly and a little too shakily. Pyrrha's eyebrows raised a fraction of a hair, but otherwise, she failed to react.

The girl blinked blearily at her now entirely blue leader. "...Hi?"

"...Hey…" After a few moments of silence, Jaune slumped into a more relaxed (albeit ashamed) stance. Looking at her now, he took note of the shadows under Pyrrha's half-lidded eyes. Her shoulders seemed to bear the weight of the world, and she could not hide her sagging head, no matter how hard she tried.

"Oh Jaune- yawnnnnnn- I thought you'd gotten rid of that a long time ago…" A passing thought told him that he hadn't actually been watching Pyrrha fighting at the Breach. He'd been so occupied fighting his measly nine Grimm that he hadn't been paying attention. And if he, a weakling with little skill and stamina, felt this way after killing only so many, how would one of Beacon's most powerful students fighting for her life against a veritable horde while securing the citizens around her feel?

No doubt she'd be a hundred times as tired, concluded Jaune as his expression grew concerned. "You, uh… okay there?"

"Mm." Not a no, but not a yes, either. "I think it'd be best if we all just got some rest bef -yaaawwnnn- before tomorrow…"

"Y-yeah. Uh, where are Ren and Nora?" The last place he'd seen the pair was in a plush couch in the student lounge, practically unconscious. At least Ren was; Nora remained gleefully awake, flustered and rejuvenated by the sleeping boy's form snoozing peacefully in her lap. A shrug from Pyrrha confirmed that they probably hadn't moved from their spot, and weren't likely to do so anytime soon. Good thing too- the less people who saw him wearing this, the better.

"...y'should go t'bed, Jaune, y've earned it…"

"I mean, yeah I'm tired, but you- whoa!"

"Uff! M'fine, Jaune, just- just goieownnnm..." At this point, Pyrrha couldn't even finish her command, already keeling over. Jaune had already moved to catch her, fumbling to keep her upright, then slowly stumbled his way to the closest bed. With a mighty flop, the two landed like rocks, perpendicular to the mattress. Pyrrha remained an unmoving plank, her face buried in the sheets and her lower body slumping onto the floor.

"Pyrrha, you can't sleep like this."

"Mmn."

Jaune rounded the bed and with as much care as he could muster, yanked Pyrrha by the armpits until an adequate amount of her body lay on the sheets. On an ordinary day, he probably could have lifted her (though with no small effort), but after a whole day of fighting while wearing heavy armor, he had just enough energy to move her about a foot across. To his credit, he gave it his all; several grunts of effort and using his entire body weight to move her every inch didn't sound so pathetic in context of the day.

"Pyrrha, could you turn upright at least?"

"...guhfuhy'self…"

Whatever. With a few more grunts of embarrassingly large effort, he dragged her upper body around 90 degrees, and again for her legs. This really shouldn't have been so hard. It wasn't fair, wasn't she wearing like, twenty-five extra pounds of armor?

Oh, duh.

"Dude, at least... take off your armor. I don't wanna... keep lifting you like this, and you... can't sleep in it," Jaune panted.

"Mm."

"...team leader's orders?"

No response. He'd have to do it himself. With drowsy fingers, he began to undo the straps on her greaves and leg armor, pausing after the first leg to see if Pyrrha objected. The body beside him didn't even flinch. Moving on to the other, then removing her heels, he hissed. Everything below her knee was rubbed red and raw. A nasty bruise on her right ankle, some concerning scrapes on her left calf, and indents everywhere in the shape of the inside of her armor. Truly, she was a champion if she could fight through hordes of vicious monsters in glamorous high heels.

Next, the bracer, armband, and gloves. Same thing; minor injuries that had no doubt built up into a pain that would have left Jaune unconscious, and red, raw armor marks everywhere. Along with the greaves and heels, they clunked down onto the carpet beside the bed, with a dull, deep thud that gave him pause. Pyrrha was more than capable of fighting in this armor- she had been her whole life- but every time she took them off, they seemed more like weights than defenses.

It was funny, Jaune thought as he gently pulled off her crown and hair tie, how well that applied to her as a whole. The Invincible Girl, always expected to be the best. The unfailing, dependable fighter. The huntress with the weight of humanity on her shoulders. Jaune displaced her neck armor with a _click_ and laid it on the bedside table. The battle had probably been emotional for her, as well as physical, and the exhaustion was probably partly emotional as well. Jaune caressed her neck in thought: their teams had held of a large number of Grimm, but they hadn't stopped all of them. Most, they'd killed, but some they'd had to leave alone to defend someone in more urgent danger.

Jaune blinked, and stilled his hand. He looked more closely at the unfailing, dependable fighter, the huntress with the weight of humanity on her shoulders. For a brief minute, Jaune put himself in her position. To be told that she couldn't fail all her life, to have never suffered a loss, and to go into the Breach believing that everyone depended on her. Ironwood considered the Breach a success, in that the loss of life was minimal.

But there was no attempt to hide the implication: lives had been lost. In Pyrrha's eyes, she'd failed. Her first and only failure, and it had cost innocent lives.

Jaune ran his hand through Pyrrha's flowing red tresses and sighed. An issue for tomorrow. Right now, her heaviest piece of armor remained. He got to work, unlacing the back and thanking goodness that no one was around to misunderstand what was going on right now, and that Pyrrha was at least wearing another layer under it.

Wait. She was, right? Jaune hesitantly picked at the last part of the bustier, and considered his options. He could A: leave the bustier on, allowing Pyrrha to retain her dignity but at the same time abandoning her to an uncomfortable, chafing sleep in bloody, dirty armor, or B: remove the bustier, freeing her to sleep comfortably and removing any chance of soreness in the morning, but risk seeing more than he should? Jaune glanced back to the red, raw skin once covered by her other armor, and the various cuts and bruises all over her. The weight of humanity on her shoulders.

He'd apologize in the morning.

As calmly as he could manage, Jaune softly opened the closet and pulled the least flattering shirt she owned off the hanger (for his own sake; his heart probably couldn't take it if he'd had to dress her in her risque sleepwear). It was the Beacon Academy t-shirt, bland and grey and two sizes too big for her. Perfect.

"Alright, Pyrrha, you gotta turn- come on- turn around- hrgh, there you go." grunted Jaune as he heaved Pyrrha's body over. "And up-!" Another heave, this time upward, to get her upper body upright and facing him.

"Pyrrha. Pyrrha, you need to wake up for this," pleaded Jaune with a forceful shake of her shoulders.

"...snnn… hn? What is it…?"

"You can't sleep in your armor, so I'm… I'm going to take it off, okay? I'm gonna take it off, and you're gonna put on a shirt, and you're gonna go to sleep and not stab me in the morning, okay?"

"Mmhm…" A vague nod confirmed Jaune's course of action. Oh God, he was really doing this. With no small amount of caution, he mounted the bed, kneeling beside his best friend.

"You're... wearing something under this, right?"

"Mmnn."

"O-okay. I'm gonna do it now. This isn't weird, not in any way." He pulled at the last cord holding the bustier together, and felt the surprising weight of it as it sagged. Jaune's eyes flicked briefly down to the armor then back up to Pyrrha's drooping head. Even disheveled, half-conscious, and drooling a little, she was still stunning, and it was his duty to maintain her dignity and virtue. She'd (mostly) explicitly trusted him to take care of her in such a vulnerable state, and who was he to betray her? He wouldn't look where he wasn't meant to, even if it was right in front of him. Even if her brown tube top left almost nothing to the imagination-

Oops. Eyes up, Jaune. Actually, best to keep them closed for good measure.

Jaune let the bustier fall to the side and pulled the grey shirt down from his shoulder. "I'm gonna put the shirt on now, okay? You have to cooperate. Stay up Pyrrha, come on, gimme your arm-" One hand supporting her back and one hand threaded through the arm hole, Jaune pulled her right hand through. Then the left arm, up and through and done.. All that was left was to pull the neck over her head, a task he found to be easier said than done.

"Up, Pyrrha, keep them up- no, straight. Wait, stop moving, let me do the right side first-"

"Mmphm! Mmnphrmr…"

"I know, I know. Okay, other arm, come on- no no no, keep them both up! You can't be that sleepy, just bear with me for a few more seconds."

"Mmm… m'not in th'mood, Jaune…"

"... I'm going to pretend you didn't say that." A deeper part of him wanted to cheer at the implication of her words, but he was stronger than that. Like her strong upper arm muscles, and the ones in her back that shifted beneath her creamy moonlit skin.

Alright, he wasn't _that_ strong, he thought as he closed his traitorous eyes again.

The last part was easiest. Her head pushed through the shirt's neck, and Jaune freed her hair from its grasp. "Beacon Academy" bulged in red serif lettering over her chest as the rest of the garment fell past her waist and pooled at her hips. Her arms' incredible muscle tone was blanketed by ultra-soft tri-blend, the sleeves drooping all the way to her elbows. The very definition of adorable. If he looked up "adorable" in the dictionary, there would be no picture of Pyrrha next to its definition because the photographer would be too distracted.

"You're the worst, you know that?" His whisper was less like a caring friend's and more like a teasing lover's.

"Mhm."

Jaune sniffed, and recoiled slightly. "You _smell_ like the worst, too, idiot." He observed her, checking up and down her limbs, and the marks on her skin became obvious. Dust and grime, sweat and blood (not hers, of course) peppered, and in some places, coated her skin. Jaune's nose recoiled at the odor of a day's worth of combat, concentrated into one stinky, gorgeous student.

"Dude. Wake up, go take a shower."

"Mmno."

"You smell like ass. You've got dirt and blood all over you."

Pyrrha moaned a negative and buried her face in her pillow. "...don' care…"

"

"You're not gonna have time to shower tomorrow before class, you know."

"..."

"Well, I'm not gonna be the one to clean you up, you big baby."

At that, Pyrrha finally deigned to turn her head to Jaune, and for all he knew, it could have been an older Ruby staring at him. Pyrrha had mastered the fearsome art of the puppy-dog gaze, and wielded it like her own spear and shield. Her disheveled hair and half-lidded eyes only served to increase the effect, and Jaune felt like he'd just stepped on a rabbit in front of its children.

"I'll, uh… come up with s-something."

Jaune stood up once more and rolled the sleeves of his onesie up to his elbows. An empty tupperware container from the mini-fridge. Two spare, clean face towels from the bathroom cabinet. About a liter of hot water from the sink, and some lemon-scented hand soap. He'd already gone this far, why stop helping Pyrrha now? He sniffed again. Oof, he'd probably be helping the air freshener in the corner too.

"Get up, Pyr. Just bear with me one more time. There you go." He sat his partner up on the edge of her bed and touched the wet towel tentatively to her forearm. He felt her tense, just briefly, before relaxing and allowing Jaune to continue. Where his hand passed over, her skin gradually regained its fresh color, and she occasionally let out a hum of contentment. A pseudo-bath and massage all in one.

"Mnnh."

"Pyrrha, no."

"A-aahn…"

"You... stop that." For the love of all things good and pure, he really hoped these walls were soundproof.

If anyone had told him he'd be scrubbing clean the body of a young goddess while attending Beacon, he'd have laughed in their face (and also maybe forge his transcripts better to _really_ ensure his acceptance, just in case). But as he methodically ran the soggy cloth down Pyrrha's arm, rubbing out any dirt and grime, cleansing the blood and sweat, he couldn't really find it in himself to care. Pyrrha needed help, and that was all. After a lifetime of being the one everyone depended on- especially after today- you needed a time to be vulnerable, no matter who you were. Though Pyrrha's legs were still silken pillars of elegance and strength, they were also overused and dirtied. They excited Jaune, not because of their statuesque beauty, but because he was the one Pyrrha trusted to care for them in her weakened state. Every inch, he restored, and every inch, he made sure Pyrrha was alright with it before he moved on. Judging by her dopey smile, she was _very_ alright with it.

The pleasure he derived from seeing Pyrrha's skin, now returned to its fair grandeur all over (and a tolerable smell, thank goodness), was not that of arousal, oddly enough for a teenage boy in his situation. Jaune let the towels fall into his makeshift washbowl at the foot of the bed, and admired his work. It was the pleasure of an acolyte who had just finished cleaning a shrine, or of a carpenter admiring his craft. Of a friend who'd cared for a weary friend.

With a small exhale and a weary smile, Jaune sat up on his calves and nudged his partner backwards. Offering no resistance, Pyrrha slumped contentedly into her pillow with a _floomph_. The soothing sensation of the warm towel on her skin, and the unintentional massage that accompanied it, had all but knocked her out. Her lack of headpiece was more than made up for by the arrangement of her hair, splayed out around her like a crown, like radiant rivers of red. Jaune's heart twinged ever so slightly, knowing that he'd give so much just to sit here with her for a thousand thousand nights and watch the dim moonlight define her form. Absentmindedly, he gripped her limp hand like it was his only lifeline. This was natural. Eating. Breathing. Sleeping. Pyrrha.

With all the care of a heart surgeon, Jaune reluctantly placed her hand on her stomach and crawled off the bed. There was no use beating up his own heart over this now, of all times. He was supposed to be relaxing and getting some rest- he had the onesie on for a reason. Jaune shrugged and, with his gaze still fixed on Pyrrha's ethereal, picturesque, drooling face, he reached for her covers. See? Jaune was tucking her in, instead of climbing in with her. There was no point in fantasizing; that he was doing the former and not the latter made his place in her life clear to him.

As if on cue, Pyrrha languidly pulled Jaune down into her embrace. The clumsy blonde could offer no resistance, weak and unprepared as he was.

"Mnno… soft…mmm…"

Oh no.

"Pyrrha! Pyrrha!" Jaune hissed frantically. Were it not for the roof above, Jaune's flushed cheeks could easily be visible from space. Meanwhile, Pyrrha kept an iron grip around her Jaune-sized plushie and rolled over, disturbing the sheets around her knees and bodily rolling him over her onto the other side of the bed. A fleeting, random thought occurred to Jaune that the move would have gotten Pyrrha high marks in a judo competition. The more urgent, lasting thoughts involved significantly less judo-related content and more of the heady scent of Pyrrha's neck and pillows. They also consisted of the sensation of her hands pulling his lower back into her, her relaxed brow on his sternum, and the insistent fear of not being able to escape. Oh God, how'd he get in this mess?

"Mmmm…" His partner pressed her body flush against his, and nuzzled against his chest once more. "Soft…"

Of _course_ it was the onesie. Jaune cursed himself for giving into its temptations; he really _should_ have burned it a long time ago! It had done nothing but get him into uncomfortable situations; his four older sisters would crush him in bear hugs whenever he had it on, and his three younger sisters would jump in his bed and hog all the space. It had gotten him no small amount of looks and snickers the night before Initiation, and now… well, it might just get him killed. He could see Lisa Lavender reporting on it now, the headline: _Beacon Student, 18, Snuggled to Death by Partner_. No, Pyrrha couldn't kill him like this intentionally, but she _could_ give him a good heart attack. The content of the news story wouldn't help him any, either: _Jaune Arc, Beacon student, has been found dead of a heart attack after stripping and rubbing his partner with a wet towel, then climbing into bed with her. More on this horrifying pervert at 11._

Jaune and Pyrrha lay there unmoving, for a brief moment, as he considered his position. The comforting weight of her legs tangled in his, the light pressure of her arm held against his chest, her other arm stroking the soft fluff of the onesie behind his shoulder. His nose and mouth lost in her hair, his hesitant hands locked tight to his sides for fear of just about everything. Her soft breaths, and the occasional moan or hum of contentment. Jaune leaned away and looked down, and could just make out the outline of her sleeping smile. He tested his retreat once, twice, thrice. Each time he got too far, Pyrrha's nose scrunched in dismay and her arms forcefully reeled him back in. Where had this strength come from? Wasn't she just borderline unconscious? Then again, weakness wasn't exactly Pyrrha's thing. There would be no escape from this intoxicatingly soft prison.

After a few minutes of panic, Jaune's shaking slowed and his muscles relaxed, just a little. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to wear this, at least once in a while. He'd let Ren and Nora find them like this tomorrow, thought Jaune as he pulled the covers over them. He'd endure anyone's teasing, if only to lift Pyrrha's troubles from her for a night. She needed comfort more than he needed dignity. The Invincible Girl looked- was- so vulnerable right now, and she'd earned it so many times over. No, this wasn't the Invincible Girl, and no longer was the weight of humanity on her shoulders. Jaune draped one arm over Pyrrha the Exhausted, Carefree, Slightly-Less-Smelly, Completely Normal Girl's waist, and wedged the other beneath her neck.

This wasn't over, Jaune knew. He let himself melt into her as she had into him, and closed his eyes. One night of holding each other wouldn't fix Pyrrha's guilt, however much imagined, about what she thought she could have done, _should_ have done at the Breach. It wouldn't fix a lifetime of being told to be the best or be a disappointment. It might not have anything on Pyrrha's own belief in her destiny to be the vanguard of Huntresses- her need to save the world to have any worth.

But, as Jaune allowed sleep to roll over him in waves, he really couldn't find the harm in trying.

* * *

Blake's Faunus traits made her more perceptive, by nature, than her fellow human teammates. So as Jaune and Pyrrha shambled their way into the cafeteria to join team RWBY and the rest of team JNPR for breakfast, she knew something was off. Apart from the obvious, of course.

Yang froze once she saw them, her fork and the eggs on it halfway to her open mouth. "Uh… Vomit Boy? You good?"

"Mmn." Jaune bit into what appeared to be toast- through half-closed, bleary eyes, he couldn't really be sure- and said nothing more.

"A-and you, Pyrrha? Are you well?"

The girl in question sniffed and scratched her side, before rudely shoving 3 pieces of bacon in her mouth. "M'fine."

"Ah, well- forgive me for saying, but you… do not seem to have gotten adequate sleep." Weiss's brow creased with concern.

"Yeah, you look like ass, dude, what happened?"

"Ruby!"

"I'm 15, Yang, not 5."

Pyrrha finished chewing and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. "Really, you guys, I'm alright. It's really not a question of lack of sleep, I just, uh…" Pyrrha's cheeks grew rosy, and the memory of waking up dusted Jaune's face a slight pink as well. "Well, on the contrary, I slept really well. I just... _really_ didn't want to get up this morning," Pyrrha responded with an almost conspiratorial grin. "Not sure why."

"I mean, after yesterday, I could stand to sleep for a whole 'nother day too, but… uh… "

"What my little sis is _trying_ to say is that your bedhead is kinda wild, Pyrrha."

"You're also half in your combat clothes and half in your pajamas," offered Ren helpfully. Leaning in, he quietly added, "Dry drool on your chin, too." Eyes wide, Pyrrha's hand flew to her mouth to wipe it off.

"And Jaune's wearing that onesie he said he burned!" chimed in Nora less helpfully. And there it was, the elephant in the room. Or, more precisely, the weirdly form-fitting, baby blue bunny onesie covering Jaune.

A short pause ensued, in which Jaune and Pyrrha took the time to finally notice that they _hadn't_ changed before leaving the room.

They looked down at themselves.

They looked at each other.

They looked at their friends, and looked at their classmates, who were all looking at them.

"UH-"

"THAT IS, WE-

"-TOTALLY ON PURPOSE-"

"-WHAT I ALWAYS SLEEP IN-"

Jaune and Pyrrha's flustered, bumbling preemptive defenses were cut short by Blake, who calmly raised a hand. "There's something none of you are seeing." Blake pointed to Jaune's chest. "Firstly, there's drool on Jaune's chest, too."

They all turned to inspect the front of the onesie, and sure enough, a barely visible white layer clung to the fabric. Yang failed to pick up on what she was getting at. "So? All that means is Jaune's _Drool_ Boy as well as Vomit Boy."

"Hey!"

"No offense, Vomit Boy."

"None taken- hey!"

Rolling her eyes, Blake gestured from Pyrrha's jaw, to Jaune's chest, and back. Jaune and Pyrrha shared a nervous glance, within which contained an short nonverbal conversation.

" _Don't say it, Pyrrha."_

" _I have to Jaune, I can't not do it."_

" _If you do, you'll-"_

In a voice like a mouse, Pyrrha gave in. "Sorry," she whispered, an apology and a confession in one.

Weiss placed her head in her hand, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Oh my stars, you slept together." Jaune could swear the ripple of gasps sucked the air out of the room, because he was suddenly having trouble breathing.

"Well, can you blame me?" Pyrrha mumbled at her lap. Neither of the two were able to look anyone in the eye, especially not each other. "It's a really soft onesie."

Blake allowed herself a tiny smirk, before the table erupted.

"YOU WHAT?!"

"NICE, DROOL BOY!"

"EW EW EW EW GROSS-"

"OH, I'M SO PROUD!"

"Nora, get off the table. And it better not have been on _my_ bed. Also, congratulations."

The pair remained speechless. Their eyes darted from one friend to the other, seeking some form of reprieve, only to be met with shock, disgust, approval, excitement, and general unhelpfulness. Out of the corner of her eye, Pyrrha spotted Yang giving Nora some money reluctantly. They looked back to Blake as the din quieted momentarily.

"And secondly, you know how I'm _absolutely sure_? As a Faunus, I _do_ have heightened senses." she grinned as she moved to resume eating. She lifted her sausages to her mouth, then paused, and looked Pyrrha dead in the eye. "And you _smell_ like each other."

The table erupted once more in a fearsome cacophony of voices and frantic questions. But through it all, through the awkwardness and the blushing, Pyrrha's pleased grin just wouldn't leave her face. Not just because they'd fallen asleep in each other's arms, but because she knew she wasn't wasn't like this when she came to the room last night. The armor that had weighed her down and rubbed her skin sore, the grit and blood flecked across her limbs and face, and the overall ache of yesterday's battle were all gone. In their place was a clean, modest shirt- which Jaune, in her weak state, would have easily left her without and taken advantage of the view were he not Jaune- fresh, unmarred skin, and a sense of renewal and comfort. In a rare, vulnerable moment, he had cared for her and more. Pyrrha allowed herself a glance at Jaune, still frantically dealing with their friends.

For the first time in a long time, she felt loved.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Yeah, I haven't been active in forever.**

 **Reviews are appreciated, and you are too.**

 **Love,  
TreesOfPaper**


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